A Battle Joined: Part Two
by Pete Tzinski
Summary: Part two of Starship Khitomer's pilot episode!


Commander O'Connors watched on the viewscreen of the U.S.S Khitomer,  
NX-1799 as the Jem'Hadar warship came about, preparing to deal the killing  
blow to the disabled Guardian-class warship.  
Engines were out, weapons were out, shields were out, and even  
communications were out. Not that that last mattered. The Jem'Hadar were  
jamming all communications anyway.  
Mr. Eckley--the security chief--was punching buttons furiously  
on his console, trying either to fire phasers or photons. He wouldn't  
be able to, O'Connors knew, both systems were out.  
The Jem'Hadar ship had come about and was heading straight  
for the Khitomer.   
I won't get to write that report now, O'Connors thought sadly.  
He'd really been looking forward to that...  
The Lieutenant who manned the helm lept up and ran across the  
bridge toward the turbolift screaming at the top of his lungs,  
"We're gonna die! Run, everybody, run! We're all gonna..."  
He was still screaming as he ran into the turbolift.  
The doors slid shut, cutting off his cries. The lift, with a  
whisper of a hiss, started away, heading for lower decks.  
With a cough of dry air, Captain Bradly J. Edwards groaned  
and sat up. He had hit his head on a console and had been knocked  
unconscious a few minutes before.   
He struggled to his feet, using the security console for  
support, and shouted, "Phasers, fire. Photons fire. All weapons,  
fire on that ship!"  
"But weapons are down, sir." Mr. Eckley said.  
Edwards bit back a curse and, still rubbing the base of his  
skull, he moved down to the lower deck to stand where the command  
chair would normally be. He watched silently as the warship closed  
for the kill. The weapons should've been powering up at that point.  
The security board pinged, then pinged again. It started  
beeping at a steady rate. Then the time between each ping started  
growing steadily shorter.  
"They're acquiring a lock, sir." Mr. Eckley said. By now  
he was shaking all over. He was trying very hard not to break down  
crying.  
Edwards shook his head in distaste.   
If I live, he thought to himself, I'm going to get the guy who  
gave me these people for a senior staff...  
The pinging vanished and was replaced by a steady tone,   
indicating a positive target lock. The forward weapons' array   
started to glow.  
Suddenly the warship twisted away, throttle set to full. Edwards frowned, wondering what it was doing.  
His curiosity evaporated when a pair of quantum torpedoes hammered into the port shields. An orange phaser blast tore the shields down and another torpedo ripped into the port nacelle, damaging it  
severely.  
The warship twisted about and started making a valiant run  
for warp. Swooping so low over the Khitomer that Edwards had to restrain  
himself from ducking, the Enterprise-E roared in pursuit of the   
purplish warship. The warship dove into the safety that warp offered. The  
Enterprise didn't pursue, but instead looped back and came to a relative  
stop just by the Khitomer.  
"Message incoming!" Eckley squealed. He sounded very happy  
to be alive.  
"Put it through."  
The audio crackled and the clipped, accented voice that  
belonged to none other than Captain Jean-Luc Picard came over.  
"--repeat, this is Captain Picard of the Enterprise to   
U.S.S Khitomer. Are you all right?"  
"This is Captain Edwards of the Khitomer. We're fine, thanks  
to you."  
"Stand by, we're acquiring a tractor lock on your vessel. We'll  
tow you back to spacedock." A pause, then, "Captain, something is bouncing  
the tractor beam off the hull of your ship. Can you do something   
about that?"  
"Stand by." Eckley muted the comm and Edwards said to him,  
"Mr. Eckley, whatever device you've got activated now, please  
shut it off, otherwise we're not going to go anywhere."  
Eckley searched hid board in confusion for several minutes. Right  
when Edwards' patience had worn thin, Eckley poked a button and  
said hesitantly "It's off...I think."  
Edwards bit back a sharp reply and instead said, "Re-open channel."  
"Try it now," He said to Captain Picard.  
There was a slight jolt, then Picard said, "Tractor secure. We're  
moving off at half-impulse. We'll be there in about half-an-hour."  
"Acknowledged, Edwards out."  


If you don't see an Applet here, I pity you.  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  


"A Battle Joined: Part Two" 

Written By: Pete D. Tzinski  
  


Guest Stars:  
Admiral Will Hendrickson   
Admiral Nechayev - Lieutenant Lural DePaul - Lieutenant Menyez  
& Lieutenant Rodrequiz  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
  
  


Captain Bradly J. Edwards stepped out of the airlock and onto the  
carpeted deck of Starbase 4, one of the starbases that was in orbit of   
Earth. He wiped sweat from his brow, then wiped his hand on his pant leg.  
During the trip back to the starbase, the environmental systems had   
malfunctioned. It had gotten hotter and hotter on the Khitomer until the  
heat was unbearable. Edwards was greatly relieved when they had arrived.  
He stood outside the 'lock for a moment, enjoying the cool breeze that  
seemed to blow down the corridor.  
His blond hair, which was normally slicked back, was now a mess.  
His goatee seemed to itch and, no matter what Edwards did, it looked  
scraggly and unkempt--even though he had always kept it neatly trimmed.   
His uniform had sweat stains on it. He wished he had stopped off at his   
quarters to change before he had come on-station, but the heat had been so  
bad that all he had been able to think of was getting out of it.  
A fresh-faced young Lieutenant marched around a corner and snapped  
to attention in front of Edwards. "Sir! Welcome aboard. We heard you were  
coming."  
Picard must've called ahead, Edwards decided, the Khitomer's   
communication system was down.  
"Thank you, Lieutenant." He smiled politely as he tapped his badge   
and said. "Edwards to Khitomer. Everyone's free to leave the ship now."  
Lieutenant Commander Dk'myr'chi responded over the comm, "This is  
Dimitri. I'm gonna stay here and start repairs if its alright with you,  
Cap'n."  
"Dimitri, it's roasting in there."  
"The heat? Aw this is nothing. This would be a cool spring morning  
on Gorn. Don't worry, Captain. I like the heat."  
"Suit yourself, Edwards out."  
He turned to face the younger man who had been standing patiently,  
waiting.   
"What's your name, son?"  
"Lieutenant Jay Ripshaw, sir. And I'm twenty-five, sir."  
"Sorry, old habit. Lieutenant Ripshaw, I need to see Admiral   
Hendrickson. Is he available?"  
Ripshaw nodded and clicked his heels, "Aye, sir. I was sent to   
escort you to him."  
"Ah, well, by all means," Edwards smiled again and gestured down   
the corridor, "Escort away." 

***  
  
  
  


"Enter," Admiral Will Hendrickson said. Edwards walked through the   
door as it swished open to admit him. Hendrickson raised his bushy eyebrows.  
Edwards was quite a mess. He really HAD come here straight from the Khitomer.  
Lieutenant Ripshaw walked in behind him.   
"Thank you, Jay, that'll be all for now."  
"Yessir," Ripshaw did a perfect about-face on one heel and marched  
out.  
Edwards lowered himself gently into the seat across from Hendrickson's  
desk.  
"Thanks for seeing me, Admiral."  
"No problem. So," Hendrickson leaned back in his seat, folding his  
arms over his chest as he appraised Edwards, "I hear you had a little   
trouble with a Jem'Hadar warship and some of the Khitomer systems."  
"Not quite true, sir. Yes, we did have trouble we a Jem'Hadar   
warship...although trouble might be an understatement. However, the   
Khitomer's systems worked fine. It was the crew that responded slowly."  
"Really," Hendrickson frowned and leaned forward. "Do you know who,  
specifically?"  
"Commander O'Connors, Lieutenant Eckley, the Helmsman--I didn't get  
his name--the Doctor..."  
"You mean to tell me," Hendrickson cut him off, "That the entire   
senior staff is slow?"  
"Not slow, just incompetent. The rest of the crew ain't great   
either, but the senior staff is the worst."  
Hendrickson activated his computer and started entering information,  
"Captain, I cannot replace the entire crew. However, I can have   
the senior staff reassigned and give you a new one. If you'll just name   
the officers that need to be replaced...?"  
Edwards ran through the list that he had carefully prepared in his   
head. When he was done, he said, "And I want Chief Engineer Dk'myr'chi to   
stay on-board. He's the best Engineer I know."  
Hendrickson nodded and deleted Dk'myr'chi's name from the list.   
"Anything else?"  
"No--yes," Edwards hastily contradicted himself. "Two things."  
Hendrickson waited.  
Edwards continued, "One: I'd like to pick my own senior staff, if  
you don't mind."  
"Okay."   
"And two..." Edwards hesitated. "...I need certain things changed   
and added to the Khitomer herself."  
"Like what?"  
Edwards grinned and ran through the second list he had in his head.  
"Well, for starters, a Captain's Chair..."  
When he finished, Hendrickson closed down the computer program and   
said, "Done, and done. I'll do my best to get everything here accomplished."  
Edwards nodded and, following Hendrickson's suit, he stood up,   
extending his hand.  
"Thank you, Admiral. You've been a big help."  
"No problem, Captain." He accepted Edwards firm handshake, then   
watched as the 'Fleet Captain walked toward the door.  
Edwards paused, hesitated for a moment, then turned and said.  
"Admiral, if you don't mind my asking, why'd you give me that staff  
in the first place?"  
Hendrickson shook his head, "I didn't. That was Admiral Weston's job."  
Edwards nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, that explains some things. Thank you  
again, Admiral."  
And with that, he walked out.  
  
  
  


***  
  
  
  


"Forty CCs of Cordazine now! Get that man prepped for surgery!   
C'mon, people, let's move!"  
Doctor Susan Woods snapped orders as she pumped the forty CCs into her   
patient's arm. The other doctors and nurses were working frantically on the   
patients who had come in this morning. Woods cursed under her breath to   
herself. The fighting had gotten worse in the last couple of days. The   
Jem'Hadar had recently received reinforcements and were pressing their   
advantage. It was all the 181st Ground Regiment could do to hold them back.  
Woods was the chief surgeon, in command of ten other doctors,   
seventeen other nurses, and almost thirty support staff. They were currently  
camped out in a large valley, protected on the sides by immense, towering  
mountains. A tunnel had been blasted straight through one of the mountains  
so that the wounded could get to the Medical unit without having to climb   
the mountain.  
Heavy casualties were the result of the offensive the 181st had   
mounted against the Jem'Hadar's main base this morning. Almost twenty   
patients had already come in and there were reports that more were coming   
in this afternoon. They had a few scant hours to deal with these wounded,  
otherwise they'd be swamped.  
She brushed her shoulder length blond hair back out of her face   
with a blood-covered hand. She had been forced to staunch the flow of   
blood from one wound about ten minutes earlier with her bare hand.   
The blood flow hadn't stopped easily, and had splurted everywhere. Her   
uniform was a bloody mess, as were her hands and boots. Now that the blood  
flow had been stopped, if she could just get the patient under, one of the   
doctors could take him into surgery and she could go clean up before she   
went into surgery herself.  
The sedative worked its magic and the heavily-wounded patient,   
with a final groan of pain, succumbed to sleep. She motioned to a pair of   
nurses who came over and hauled the patient's stretcher up, carrying him   
toward surgery. She pushed herself up, off of her knees, and jogged toward   
the prepping area, just outside the operating room.  
As she scrubbed the blood from her hands, she caught a glimpse of   
herself in a mirror and groaned. She was a mess...  
Her blond hair which spilled down to shoulder length was unkempt--  
she hadn't washed it, or even brushed it in two days--and had a large bloody  
stain on it, left over from when she had brushed it back from her face.   
Her light green eyes were bloodshot--probably because she hadn't slept in   
two days--and seemed to her a bit bleary. Her normally neat uniform was  
wrinkled and bloody--but she hadn't changed it in almost two days either.   
For the past two days, the small mobile medical station had been swamped   
by wounded. No one had had time to anything--even sleep!  
Drying her hands quickly on a towel that hung on a bar over the   
sink, she grabbed an operating smock and slipped into it. A nurse came up  
behind her and tied it on. She pushed her way through the double doors   
that separated the operating area from the rest of the camp. It was   
essentially one very long room that had enough operating tables to   
accommodate all the doctors, and then some. The mobile medical station was  
equipped with five holographic projectors that could create EMHs. Every one  
of them was in use right now, so short-handed were they.  
Three days ago, the Jem'Hadar had lobbed a photon bomb over the   
mountains. It had struck pretty close to the camp and had killed five of   
their doctors. They now had five doctors and five EMHs left. It was   
dangerous using the EMHs because the increased energy output increased the   
chance of the Jem'Hadar locating the camp. Every day, she prayed fervently   
to whatever gods there might be that they wouldn't find them. So far, her   
prayers had been answered.  
"What've we got?" She demanded as she stormed into the room.  
Doctor Xonne--a black-haired Vulcan doctor who had been with Woods  
and the 181st for almost two years-- filled her in while working fervently  
on his patient.  
"We still have twenty patients that need care. There is an officer   
on table number seven who requires your attention. His condition is   
critical and his health is rapidly failing."  
She moved quickly over to the table, allowing the nurses to slide   
a pair of white gloves onto her hands as she moved, and cursed at what she  
saw. The patient had shrapnel in his head, chest, arms, abdomen.... He   
seemed to have it everywhere.  
His life signs were dropping at an alarming rate. He was fading  
fast.  
"Why didn't anyone help this man!?" She yelled as she grabbed a   
hypospray from the nurse who was assisting her and emptied its contents   
into the patient's neck.  
"We don't have anyone capable of handling it, except for you," Xonne   
replied coolly.  
She bit back a reply and started to work. The shrapnel was in deep  
in some spots. It had punctured some vital organs and had done damage to   
his spinal column. Without waiting for orders, the nurse injected another   
solution into his neck. Everyone knew what to do around here. There was   
very rarely any time to give orders. The five seconds that one might spend   
giving an order might be the five seconds needed to save the patient's life.  
She twisted her wrist in an awkward position had made the muscles   
scream in protest and grasped a particularly small piece of shrapnel that  
had punctured the small intestine. She pulled it out then staunched the   
blood. Throwing the shrapnel in a bucket by the side of the bed, she started  
her hunt for more small pieces of metal.  
There was a loud explosion outside and the light dimmed.  
Blast, she thought, they've started the shelling again. I really  
hope they don't hit the generator...  
  


***  
  
  
  


After spending ten hours in surgery, Woods was now sprawled on a   
bench in the prepping area. Her head was resting on the wall behind her   
and her eyes were closed.   
Xonne staggered through the curtains that separated the surgery   
area from the prepping area. He tossed his operating smock in a basket and   
dropped with an un-Vulcan like groan onto a bench across the room.  
Without opening her eyes, she said, "I'm going to go back to my   
bunk and sleep until this war's over...maybe a bit longer too."  
Xonne replied, "It does not sound like a bad idea. Perhaps I will  
consider a similar course of action."  
She smiled but didn't bother going to her bunk. The bench was nice  
and comfortable. She could just fall asleep right here...  
She would've if Ensign Calisky hadn't burst through the swinging   
double doors and said, "Commander, you've got a priority message from   
Starfleet Command."  
She didn't respond right away, but before Calisky could repeat   
himself, she said "Alright, I'll take it in my office."  
With a grunt, she hauled herself to her feet and staggered out the   
double doors, heading toward her office which was located across the   
compound. She hadn't realized how much her feet had hurt before...  
Calisky watched her go, then looked over at Xonne. "Doctor, would   
you like to go back to your bunk? It might be more comfortable there."  
But Xonne had already fallen asleep. Even Vulcans needed rest   
eventually...  
  


***  
  
  
  


The message made her furious. It was a reassignment order. She was  
to report to Starbase 4 to be reassigned to a starship--she was too mad  
at that point to remember the ship's name--as Chief Surgeon. She was also   
to bring one other Doctor with her.  
How dare they!? She thought angrily to herself. She was needed here!  
The 181st was not the toughest regiment and, as a result, they generated a   
lot of wounded! Her services were required here! How could those   
stuffed-shirted jackasses think that they could just reassign her on a   
whim like this!? Who did they think they were?  
But she knew the answer to that already. They were her superiors.   
They could do this. She had no choice but to go along with it.  
Well, not exactly true, she DID have another option, but it wasn't  
one she was willing to use yet.  
She fumed to herself for another minute, angrily insulting   
Starfleet, the Dominion, and the galaxy in general, in her mind. Then she  
acknowledged the message and stalked out of the room, all tiredness gone,  
in search of Xonne. If she had to take one other doctor, she mine as well  
take the one she knew and worked with best...  
  
  


***  
  
  
  


Commander Christopher Hobson strode onto the bridge of the   
U.S.S Ironheart, PADD in hand, heading for the center seat with the intent  
of speaking to its sole occupant.  
Captain Andrew McLain heard him coming and swivled about, smiling  
as Hobson came.  
Hobson was a human male in his early forties. He was slightly   
shorter than average with wavy brown hair, green eyes, a friendly--if   
reserved--smile, and a light build. He had been a good friend to McLain   
for all the years that they had served together on the Ironheart.  
"Commander! What's up?" He said.  
Hobson slid into his chair on the bridge of the Nebula-class   
starship and handed the PADD to McLain. "Latest report from Lieutenant   
Basks." He said, referring to the Ironheart's happy-go-lucky Chief Engineer.  
"The engines'll be back up to full operating capacity in about an hour."  
McLain grunted and accepted the report. He glanced at it briefly,   
then set it down on the ground beside his command chair. He turned to face  
forward again, and motioned toward the viewscreen.  
"The stars are pretty tonight, Chris."  
Hobson admired them for a moment, then replied, "Yes, sir. You still  
haven't told me why we're just sitting here in the middle of a nebula when we  
could be helping fight the Dominion."  
"Oh, we are." McLain replied smoothly, "Just not directly. As I said  
earlier, Commander, wait and see. Don't worry, it'll only be another hour."  
Hobson was about to press the matter, then decided against it. He   
shrugged and, grabbing the PADD that was balancing on the arm of his chair,  
he started writing that report he'd been promising Starfleet for a month now.  
After waiting two days and only getting 'Wait and see' from McLain,  
what was one more hour...?  
  


***  
  
  
  


The hour flew by quickly. Hobson looked up from the completed  
report that he'd been proofreading when the helmsman said, "Sir, I read  
six Dominion ships."  
"What type of ships? What course are they on?" McLain asked  
the helmsman calmly without a trace of suprise.   
"Four of them are fighter-class ships. The other two seems to be  
Cargo frigates of some kind. They're on a course that will take them past  
the nebula and toward Cardassian space."  
"Excellent." McLain leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers.  
"Calculate at exactly what time they shall be closest to us."  
"In ten minutes, sir."  
"Then we wait ten minutes. Prepare all weapons and signal battle stations  
on all decks. Don't actually raise shields or arms weapons until we are moving to  
confront them. I don't want to give our position away."  
Hobson listened to this exchange, his admiration of McLain growing as he  
did so. The starship captain had always been an amazing tactician.  
Ten minutes passed quickly as the bridge sat in a tension-filled silence.  
Ensign Tom Clayton--the helmsman--said in a low tone, as if he were afraid to   
break the tense silence that had fallen, "Ten minutes have passed, sir."  
"Good." McLain stood up and straightened his uniform. He didn't show a single  
sign of being nervous, although Hobson was fairly certain he was.   
"On my mark, accelerate to maximum Impulse, raise shields, charge phasers  
and photons, and acquire target locks."  
"Aye, sir. What's the target?" The Security Chief answered  
"Fire surgical strikes and disable the cargo ships' engines. Then focus all   
weapons on the fighter escorts. Once they're out of our way, we can take care of the  
disables ships at our leisure."  
"Roger that."  
McLain hesitated for a moment, then barked, "Mark!"  
The Ironheart surged to life and lept from the concealing nebula, pouncing on the  
unsuspecting Dominion ships like a hunter on prey. Powerful phaser beams cut the cargo  
transports' shields down and dealt severe damage to the engines, destroying their ability   
to go to warp.  
The fighter escorts reacted quickly and charged at the Ironheart, purple weapons  
blazing. The Nebula-class starship's shields were plenty strong enough to take the damage  
they were dishing out. The Ironheart's phasers were strong enough to severely damage one  
of the fighters with one hit.  
Unfortunately, that one hit was not easy to get. The smaller craft swarmed about  
at speeds to great for the phaser banks to accurately track. It was by pure luck and the  
stupidity of the ship's pilot that they managed to blast one ship out of the sky.  
Hobson held onto the armrests of his chair as the Ironheart bucked under the  
combined assault of all three ships.  
"Shields down to seventy-five percent!" The Security Chief shouted over the  
klaxons that screamed through the bridge. "Two of those fighters have already seen   
combat! We should be able to destroy them with one shot."  
"Alright," McLain decided, still standing in front of his chair. He had only swayed   
a little under the previous assault. "Here's what we'll do. Launch four torpedoes out of   
the forward tubes. Have them target two to each damaged fighter. The moment those   
fighters twist to evade, hit 'em with phasers."  
"I'm on it!"  
Four torpedoes screamed from the launch tubes and hurtled through space  
toward the Jem'Hadar fighters. The small fighter craft waited until the torpedoes were  
almost upon them, then split, heading to separate directions. The torpedoes followed.  
With expert marksmanship, the Ironheart's Security Chief unleashed the phasers  
at precise angles and vaporized the fighters.  
"One left! He's on a strafing run across our lower hull."  
McLain waited a brief instant, then said, "Topside manuvering thrusters, fire.   
Drive us straight down."  
"Sir--"  
"Now!"  
The Ironheart's thrusters fired and the entire ship banked downward. The fighter  
was hammered into the suddenly close shields. It was destroyed on contact.  
McLain sighed and dropped back into his seat.   
"Alright, let's go get those cargo transports."  
  


***  
  
  
  


Several hours later, long after they'd taken care of the cargo convoy, Hobson  
had gone to his quarters, stripped out of his uniform, and dropped onto the bed  
with a groan, eagerly awaiting the coming of sleep. He was just drifting off when,   
somewhere in the rumpled mess of his uniform that lay on the ground by the side of his  
bed, a muffled beep sounded from his combadge.  
Muttering several incomprehensible curses--he wasn't even sure if they were curses  
--he pawed about in his uniform without looking at it and ripped his badge of his jacket  
when he found it.  
"Hobson, what is it?" He demanded.  
McLain said, "You've got a message from Starfleet HQ. They sent it to me and  
told me to forward it to you."  
"Alright, patch it through."  
He got up and padded on his bare feet across the floor toward the computer. He  
realized that all he was wearing were his shorts, but didn't really care. Maybe it would  
make the brass at HQ realize that they did sleep out on the starships and that they   
couldn't be called at any time of day!  
The message, much to Hobson relief and disappointment, was a text message  
that scrolled across his screen. When it shut off, he dropped into a chair and sat there  
slumped for several minutes, the message he had read not quite registering on his mind.  
Transfer...His brow furrowed in thought. Was it something he had done? Had  
Captain McLain requested this? Why was he being reassigned? These questions ran  
through his mind, followed by still more. He puzzled over it for almost an hour, then  
with a tired "Harumph!" He hauled himself to his feet and collapsed in his bed.  
He'd worry about it in the morning...  
  
  
  


He awoke at six the next morning and spent two hours packing everything he  
had--which wasn't that much. They didn't bring much when they were on starships,  
because it was a pain when they were reassigned--then, wearing a clean uniform, he  
headed for the bridge.  
As always, McLain turned and smiled at him as he came onto the bridge. Hobson  
forced a smile up and plastered it on his face. It didn't fool McLain though, who  
frowned and asked, "What's wrong, Chris?"  
Hobson swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "I--uh--that message from HQ last  
night. It was a reassignment order. I've been transferred."  
McLain's eyebrows rose in suprise as he bolted to his feet and said, "What?"  
Hobson's eyes found his. "So you didn't know anything about this? It wasn't  
your idea?"  
"No!" McLain moved forward and grabbed Hobson by the shoulders. "Chris, I'd  
never have you reassigned for any reason! I don't know why they would either."  
Hobson shrugged, "Who knows? There's nothing we can do about it, though."  
"I could try." McLain offered.  
Hobson shook his head, "Don't bother. Judging from the tone of the message,  
they won't listen to anyone who says otherwise. They were very firm. I'm all  
packed up and ready to go. I need to be at Starbase 4 in two days, so I came to   
ask if I could borrow a shuttle...and to say good-bye."  
They stood there staring at each other silently for a moment. Then with  
something that sounded like a cross between a cough and a sob, McLain grabbed  
Hobson in a tight hug.  
Hobson returned it just as tight. He felt a lump rising in his throat. He'd  
been reassigned before to different ships, but he had had a special relationship with  
McLain and the rest of the crew on the Ironheart. For some reason, a close bond  
of friendship had developed between all of them.  
When they separated again, Hobson could see tears welling up in McLain's  
soft brown eyes. He smiled sadly and said in a choked up voice, "Take care of yourself  
Chris."  
Hobson smiled back, the lump in his throat making it very hard to force any  
words out. "You too."  
And then, unable to find anything else to say, Hobson turned his back on the  
bridge of the starship that had been his home for several years and walked into the  
turbolift.  
"Main Shuttle Bay." He said in a broken voice to the computer.  
With an obedient beep, the turbolift hummed to life and descended toward   
Hobson's destination.  
  


***  
  
  
  


As the shuttle Mercury departed from the Ironheart and headed toward Starbase  
4, so many light-years away, Hobson activated a small screen and set it for aft view.  
He looked fondly at the image of the Ironheart as it slowly vanished in the distance. Then,  
the computer beeped and the shuttle shot into warp. The Ironheart vanished as though  
it had never existed at all.  
But Hobson knew it had existed...  
  


***  
  
  
  


Lieutenant Commander Robert Radisson walked into his house that  
were located just off the grounds of 'Fleet HQ and tossed his jacket on the chair.  
"I'm home!" He shouted, his thundering voice echoing through the house.  
His wife, Louise, came down the stars slowly, seeming subdued. She  
said "Hi, Rob. Have a good day?" As she hugged him in greeting.  
He returned her hug, "Fairly good. Sitting behind a desk isn't my favorite  
thing to be doing, but there are worse things."  
"Yes."  
He placed his hands on her shoulders and gazed down into her eyes.  
"Is something wrong?"  
"I--no--yes." She walked over to his desk and activated his computer.  
"Starfleet's reply to your request came back."  
"Great! We can leave whenever you're ready then..."  
She slowly shook her head, "No, Rob."  
"No?" He frowned in puzzlement and walked over to the computer, calling up the message.  


TO: Lieutenant Commander Robert Radisson.  
FROM: Admiral Will Hendrickson  
CONCERNING: Transfer Request.  


We regret to inform you that your request for a transfer to the Starfleet Embassy on Betazed has been rejected. Instead, you will be assigned to the U.S.S Khitomer, NX-1799 as  
Chief of Security ASAP. Please report to shuttle 48572 at 1200 Hours tomorrow afternoon.  


  
He collapsed in his seat, the six-foot tall man seeming to deflate before his wife's  
eyes. "Rejected..." He mumbled under his breath.   
"And unfortunately, I still have orders to go to Betazed as Attaché' to the Ambassadorial office."  
He buried his face in his hands and rested his elbows on the desk, thinking how his life had deteriorated.  
  
  
  


The next day, at 1200 Hours, Radisson was in the main hanger at 'Fleet HQ, waiting for the shuttle to arrive.   
The previous evening had been a sad one. He and his wife had both been plagued by the realization that they would soon be separated again...perhaps permanently.  
"Hey, I can come visit." He had said with a cheerfulness he hadn't felt. "And I'll write whenever I can. Besides, once the war's over, I'm sure they'll let me go to Betazed."  
"But who knows when the war'll be over." She had pointed out. "And what if you get killed? Chief of Security on a warship! That's a very dangerous post. You may not live to see the end of the war and--" She had cut off, biting her lower lip as she tried not to break down crying.  
The thought of getting killed had crossed his mind, but he had dismissed it.  
"Hey, honey." He had said reassuringly, gathering her into his arms. "Don't worry. I can take care of myself. Nothing will happen to me. Trust me."  
They had stood, gazing out a window at the gleaming lights of San Francisco, holding each other. Despite his reassurances, they both realized that they might never see one another again.  
The shuttle docked on platform B across the hanger. Slinging his two duffel bags over his shoulders and picking up the other suitcase in his left hand, he pushed his way through   
the crowd.  
Radisson was six feet tall with neatly trimmed, brownish-blond hair. He had broad shoulders an was very muscular. It wasn't hard to shove his way through the crowd. Those people who didn't move out of his way were pushed aside by his broad shoulders as he stalked across the hanger.  
The shuttle's aft hatch opened, lowering to the deck and becoming a ramp. A  
tall, skinny, black-haired man stepped down it. He leaned against the side of shuttle and  
crossed his arms, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd.  
Radisson waved a hand high above his head as he broke through the crowd  
and approached.  
"You Radisson?" The pilot asked gruffly.  
"That's me."  
He jerked a thumb toward the interior of the shuttle and said "Let's go."  
Radisson followed him inside, dropping his bags on the floor. The pilot  
was bringing the shuttle up and out of the hanger before Radisson had even had  
a chance to sit down.   
As they left Earth, Radisson couldn't help but wonder if he would every see  
it--or his wife--again...  
  
  
  


Two days later, with the modifications on the Khitomer complete and most  
of the senior staff on-board, Edwards reported to Admiral Nechayev's office as ordered.  
He entered and found her sitting behind a desk, following him with her cold  
eyes. Sitting beside her were two other Admirals. Admiral Will Hendrickson, and Admiral  
Jellico.  
Admiral Hendrickson, Edwards knew, was alright. He was a good man who was  
always willing to listen to one's problems and do what he could to help. Nechayev was  
as cold and hard as steel in a vacuum, and Admiral Jellico was an intolerable pain in the--  
"Captain." Nechayev acknowledged his presence with a nod of her head.  
"Glad you could join us."  
Edwards snapped to attention--something he only did in the presence of Nechayev--  
and said, "I was told to report here for instructions, sirs."  
She steepled her fingers and leaned back in her chair. "Yes. Admiral Hendrickson?"  
Hendrickson nodded and got up. He tapped a button on her computer. The lights  
dimmed and a holographic scene projected about waist-level. "If you'll observe..."  


*A beautiful green planet, floating gracefully in space somewhere. Around the   
planet, and patrolling the rest of the system were dozens of Jem'Hadar warships  
and fighters.  
Roaring from behind the camera, twenty Starfleet vessels--ranging from two  
Galaxy-class starships to five or six Oberth-class starships--charged at the Jem'Hadar  
ships, weapons blazing.  
"Everyone, pick your targets. Let's get this system back under Federation  
control!" Somebody shouted over the comm.  
The two Galaxy-class starships ganged up on one Jem'Hadar warship. They  
poured phaser fire and photon torpedoes into the ship. Somehow, the ship not only  
survived, but took on of the Galaxy-class ships down.* 

Edwards watched in horrified awe as the Jem'Hadar efficiently and ruthlessly  
cut down every single Federation ship. They lost only one ship when a Miranda-class  
starship aimed right at it and accelerated into warp, smashing into it at speeds that  
were faster than light.  
The holographic image vanished and the lights came back up.  
Jellico stood and came around the desk. He stopped in front of Edwards, hands  
clasped behind his back. "What you just saw was an engagement that took place in the  
Anteries system two days ago. The entire task force was destroyed."  
"How was that possible?" Edwards asked.  
"We don't know," Nechayev put in, "But we have a theory. Somehow, we  
believe they have modified their shields to absorb any energy it meets and redirect it  
into the other systems. The energy they can't use, they bleed off into space."  
"The Anteries system," Hendrickson said, "Is one of our chief suppliers of not  
only Dilithium, but of Plasma and other substances that are used in the making of  
phaser batteries. Our production has seriously suffered since that system fell to the  
Dominion. Their production, on the other hand, has now increased."  
"Great," Edwards shook his head in dismay, "Their production was already faster  
than ours. Now your telling me its gotten even faster."  
"We must take this system back from the Dominion," Jellico stated quite firmly.  
"Agreed," Edwards nodded, "I take it that's what you want me to do?"  
"Correct." Nechayev said. Edwards wished one of them would decide to brief him. Having three people talking to him at once was getting confusing.   
She continued, "You will lead a task force to the Anteries system and drive the Dominion  
from it." She paused then said, "No matter the cost, do not come back until the system is once  
again under the Federation flag."  
Edwards nodded stiffly, then turned on his heel and marched out to make preparations.  
No matter the cost.... After what he had seen, Edwards suspected the cost would be  
very high.  
  


***  
  
  
  


An hour later, Edwards gathered in the conference room with the senior staff members that had already arrived.  
Commander Hobson sat just to his left. Beside him was Lieutenant Commander Robert Radisson. Lieutenant Commander Dk'myr'chi sat directly opposite of Edwards at the other end  
of the oblong, obsidian-colored table. To his left, Doctor Susan Woods sat, drumming her fingers  
on the table. Beside her was the Khitomer's new helmsman--Krod Zetan, Edwards believed was  
his name--who was looking with great interest at a potted plant on the other side of the room.  
Edwards was wondering how much longer they would have to wait, when his badge  
chirped. He tapped it, "Edwards here."  
"Captain," The voice of one of the officers on the bridge came over, "We just got word  
from Starfleet Command. I'm afraid the shuttle carrying Counselor Cortez was attacked by a  
Dominion Patrol. He was killed."  
Edwards sighed. Another casualty...  
"Acknowledged, Edwards out." Well, that took care of that. Edwards stood up, resting  
his knuckles on the table. "First off, I'd like to welcome you all to the Khitomer. I know you may  
now all want to be here--"  
Woods snorted and muttered under her breath "Ain't that the truth"  
Edwards let it slide "--but I needed the best senior staff in the fleet, so I asked for you."  
Edwards scanned each of them, locking eyes briefly with each one, then continued.  
"I've been given our mission. Awhile ago, the Dominion took control of the Anteries system--one of our chief suppliers of Dilithium. A task force was sent to drive the Jem'Hadar  
out."  
"What happened?" Hobson asked.  
"The entire task force of almost twenty ships was obliterated."  
A murmur of disbelief ran up and down the table.  
"Twenty starships?" Radisson exclaimed, "That's impossible!"  
Edwards nodded, "That's what we thought too. The Dominion has developed a new  
type of shielding that absorbs phaser and photon fire, then drains it off either into the ship's  
systems or into space. This renders the ships effectively invulnerable."  
"I don't like the sound of that," Dk'myr'chi said from the other end of the table.  
Edwards shook his head, "Nor I. We're to lead a task force to drive the Dominion  
out at any costs."  
"Captain," Radisson put in, "If the other task force was destroyed, what makes them  
think we'll do any better?"  
Edwards dropped back into his seat, "Because we're going to have some very advanced  
starships on our side. Because the other task force consisted two capital ships and a bunch of support craft whereas we'll be almost all capital ships. And because our captains are very experienced and battle-hardened."  
"Do we have a chance?" Hobson wanted to know.  
Edwards was about to say, 'Of course. We'll win' then hesitated. Instead he said, "The odds of us coming back alive are about sixty-forty against."  
That brought a dead silence over the conference room. Edwards let it hang for a bit, then  
broke it.  
"Now you know why I chose all of you. I need a good senior staff on not only this mission, but the other missions we'll undoubtedly do throughout the war. Afterward, I'm sure  
I can get your old assignments back...if you still want them."  
The silence hung for a moment longer, then Hobson spoke for all of them.  
"When do we leave?"  
  
  
  


The One tapped his fingers nervously on the desk, wishing the call would   
hurry up and get through.  
Finally, the computer chirped and the screen flashed to life, revealing a  
silhouetted image of the Other.  
The One leaned forward. "Agent 52 reporting in. I'm onboard the Khitomer."  
The Other said, "Do they suspect anything?"  
"Not a thing. My cover is very complete."  
The Other leaned back in his seat, "Excellent. Proceed with your mission. Call  
in with any information you think we should have. Out."  
And with that, the Other's image vanished from the screen. The One shut off  
the computer and sat there for a moment in silence, then got up to go to work.  
  


***  
  
  
  


Hobson, sitting in his newly installed chair, was giving a report to Edwards  
who was sitting in his newly installed Captain's chair.  
"...and almost all of the Phoenix-class fighters aboard and locked down.   
Commander Zack Toyle and Captain Christopher Blair are arriving in about an   
hour." He reported.  
"Why didn't they come with the rest of their squadron?" Edwards asked.  
"There was heavy fighting in the sector they were assigned to. The rest of  
the squadron had already left for the Khitomer, but they were still there when the   
fighting broke out. They couldn't leave until the Jem'Hadar had been beaten back."  
"Mmmmm," Edwards mumbled thoughtfully. He accepted the PADD that  
Hobson handed him and scanned through it for an instant. Balancing it on the  
arm of his chair, he turned his chair so that he was facing Hobson.  
"How're you settling in on the Khitomer?" He asked with a friendly grin.  
Hobson considered his reply for a moment, then said, "Well enough, I  
suppose. It's a good ship and the crew seems decent. I still miss the Ironheart, but  
I guess that'll pass."  
"Good, good." Edwards nodded once.  
There was a low whistle from Hobson's right. The two looked over to see  
Radisson staring wide-eyed at his console.  
"What's up, Lieutenant Commander?" Edwards asked.  
Without looking up, Radisson muttered in a low voice, filled with awe.   
"The weapons on this ship are....incredible! Repeating photon launchers,  
Ion Guns, lots of phaser banks, quantum torpedoes, photon nets...This is amazing!"  
Edwards and Hobson exchanged a glance, then Edwards said,  
"Glad you like 'er, Mr. Radisson." Edwards said, "Familiarize yourself with  
the controls. You'll be using them quite a bit."  
Radisson didn't even bother to answer, so absorbed was he in the panel.  
*Well, let him enjoy it.* Edwards thought. He turned his chair to face  
forward again and said to Krod Zetan, who had just come on-duty.  
"Ensign, lay in a course for Starbase 32, warp 3. Send a message ahead  
to Captain Blair and Commander Toyle. Inform them of our new destination."  
"Aye, captain." Zetan said quietly.  
The Khitomer heaved her bulk out of the Lunar shipyard and glided gracefully,  
heading for deep space. Once they had cleared the innermost planets and had made their  
way around the asteroid belt, the Khitomer's mighty warp engines glowed to life and  
the Guardian-class starship--fully repaired and ready for action--sailed into warp.  
  


***  
  
  
  


The Khitomer arrived at Starbase 91 a few hours later. Edwards strode  
calmly onto the bridge and lowered himself into his command chair.   
Surrounding the starbase were twenty starships of every shape and class.  
He saw some Galaxy-class starships, a few Nebula-class, some Ambassador-class,  
several New Orleans-class and even a couple of Defiant-class. Edwards was impressed.  
He would be leading a very nice task force!  
The Khitomer came to a stop just beside a Galaxy-class starship that   
proudly bore the name Constitution. Edwards said, "Inform base command that we've  
arrived. We'll pick up whatever extra crew members that need to come on-board, then  
we'll leave."  
"Aye, sir." Radisson said.  
No more than five minutes later, Edwards saw shuttles launching from the  
station heading toward the Khitomer.  
Obviously, they weren't wasting any time. The situation out in the Anteries  
system must really be desperate...  
  
  
  


  
The crewmembers wasted no time in coming on-board. Everyone was on and ready  
to go in just under twenty minutes.  
Edwards sat on the bridge of the Khitomer, drumming his fingers on the arm  
of his chair as he waited for Radisson to finish patching his call through to   
everyone in the fleet.  
Finally, Radisson looked up, "Done. You're on."  
Edwards nodded and cleared his throat.  
"This is Captain Bradly J. Edwards onboard the USS Khitomer. I'll be in command  
of the fleet. I assume you've all been briefed on the situation out in the  
Anteries system, so I won't waste time explaining it again. I just want you all  
to know, there is a very small chance we'll come back alive. The Jem'Hadar have  
a new type of shielding which renders their ships nearly invulnerable. We have  
to drive them from the system at any cost.  
"Now, I know some of you have families waiting for you back home. And I'm  
sure you all realize that you may never see them again. For this, I am sorry. But  
try to remember that there are four billion lives in the Anteries system depending  
on us. I would ask you all to show the unwavering loyalty and courage of which I   
know you're all capable of. As an ancient poet said, "Their's was not to reason why,  
their's was not to make reply, their's was but to do or die...into the valley of  
death, rode the six hundred.' Well, friends, we are certainly riding into that  
valley of death. I wish you all good luck. Edwards out."  
Hobson had been below, seeing that the new crewmembers got settled in. He had  
come onto the bridge at some point during Edwards speech. Now he stepped down  
to his seat, lowered himself in it, and said to Edwards.  
"Very nicely said. I think they'd follow you into hell after that."  
Edwards gazed at the silent, cold, shining stars for a moment, then  
said.  
"That's good, because hell is where we're going."  
  
  


***  
  
  
  


Commander Zack Toyle and Captain Christopher Blair had chased the Jem'Hadar  
attack ships away from their previous system and had been en route to the massive  
fleet that was gathering at Starbase 91 when a second group of Jem'Hadar fighters  
had ambushed them.  
They had dropped out of warp in an asteroid field and had broken formation. They  
were currently engaging the Jem'Hadar ships in dogfights.  
Toyle liked a good fight, but at the moment, he was tired. They'd spent several  
hours fighting non-stop against the Jem'Hadar already, trying to defend the system.   
He punched down on the triggers and phaser beams lanced out to spear an  
attack ship, ripping it's wing off and sending it into a tumble. It smashed into a rock  
seconds later with a massive explosion.  
But Toyle wasn't there to watch it. He looped around and found another attack  
ship that was hanging tight on Captain Blair's tail.  
"Hold on, Cap'n," He said over the comm. "I'm almost there."  
"Hurry up, kid." Blair replied, "This bugger's stuck tight."  
His targeting crosshairs lit up red and his squeezed his triggers again. Phasers  
hit the Jem'Hadar ship full in the engines. It was destroyed instantly.  
"Good shot, Zack. My turn."  
Blair's fighter twisted around an asteroid then came shooting straight at  
Toyle. He fired a torpedo on a trajectory that took it very, very close to Toyle's  
fighter. Too close! Toyle could almost imagine the paint blackening on the topside  
of his fighter.  
The torpedo found its mark and disintegrated a Jem'Hadar that had found  
Toyle's tail. Toyle sighed in relief. He hadn't even known that fighter was there!  
There were only two attack ships left. Blair was chasing one on the other  
side of the asteroid field while Toyle tracked the second one.  
The attack ship looped upward, then came down hard onto Toyle's tail  
again. A high-pitched hum filled the cockpit, indicating a torpedo lock. Toyle  
wouldn't be able to dodge in time...  
Instead of trying to dodge, he cut his throttle to zero and slammed down  
on the brakes. With a shudder, his fighter came to a halt.  
The Jem'Hadar had, no doubt, been prepared for the Phoenix-class fighter  
to try and jink out of the way, but he hadn't been prepared for this. Toyle set his  
shields double aft, then held on.  
The Jem'Hadar rammed into his shields and exploded in a ball of flame,  
taking most of the shields with him. Toyle's fighter was damaged, the hull blackened  
from the proximity of the blast.  
The controls were sluggish, but he managed to get his throttle back up to  
100% and angle toward where he had seen Blair dogfighting.  
He got close enough to see Blair take a deadly hit to the aft. His fighter   
careened out of control.  
"Captain!" Toyle shouted over the comm. "Punch out! I'll pick you up. Punch--"  
"Too late for that, son." Blair rasped over the comm. "Systems are shot. I  
can't eject. G'bye, kid..."  
And with that, he smashed into an asteroid and vaporized.  
Angrily, Toyle wiped the tears out of his eyes, suprised that they were  
even there. They were blurring his view of the targeting computer.  
And according to that computer, the attack ship that had taken out Blair was  
now driving at him.  
He was in no shape to fight. He did then what he hated doing the most:  
Turned tail and ran.  
The Jem'Hadar pursued him into warp. He was only five minutes away from  
Starbase 91. If he could just last that long...  
  
  
  


  
Four minutes passed painfully slow. He could see a bright object in the distance  
that might've been mistaken for a star slowly growing bigger. He knew it to be the Starbase.  
His fighter jolted and a console to the right of him exploded. He twisted his face  
to the left to avoid getting burned and felt the heat on his arm.  
He looked back to see what had exploded, then groaned. That had been the shield  
console. His fighter was now without shields!  
Maneuvering thrusters were sluggish. Very, very sluggish, but they were all  
he had. The warp engines had carried to him to the edge of the system, then had  
conked out.  
He saw the mushroom shape of the Starbase loom up in front of him. Surrounding  
it were twenty capital-class starships! His insides untwisted themselves and he sighed  
in relief as he saw the ships. They would surly drive off the Jem'Hadar.  
As he hoped, two Defiant-class ships peeled off from the main group and accelerated  
toward him.  
Unfortunately, the Jem'Hadar also saw them. Rather then running, it started firing  
steadily in an attempt to bring Toyle down before it fled.  
Another panel exploded. His weapons were down too...  
Using the maneuvering thrusters, he aimed the fighter toward the ship that his  
targeting computer identified as the USS Khitomer. His new assignment.  
He had just lined himself up with the hanger bay when the engines conked out  
altogether, leaving him with maneuvering thrusters only.  
He checked the speed gauge. Too fast! He had to lose some speed, or he would  
be a gray spot on the deck of the hanger...  
He fired the forward maneuvering thrusters and killed some of his speed.  
Not enough..... He was trying to fire them again when the Jem'Hadar let loose its  
final shot.   
Unfortunately, the shot took out all propulsion. He didn't even have maneuvering thrusters anymore. He was simply coasting along on inertia alone.  
  
  
  


"Captain!" Ensign Zetan yelped as he peered as his console.  
"What is it?" Edwards asked, brought out of his seat by the urgency in the  
Bolian's voice. In a few quick strides, he was standing behind Zetan, peering at the helm  
over his shoulder.  
Zetan indicated one screen. "I read a Phoenix-class fighter on a ballistic course for  
our hanger. He's going too fast!"  
Edwards turned toward Radisson who had been listening in alarm. "Tractor Beams?"  
Radisson shook his head, not needing to look at his console. "No chance. We  
couldn't get around in time. He'd smash into us, or just hurtle by and hit the Starbase."  
With a curse, Edwards dropped into his seat and started punching information  
into the panel on the armrest.   
He looked at the results, then said, "Mr. Zetan, hold our position. Don't move the  
Khitomer by even a millimeter."  
"Sir!?" Zetan spun his chair about to stare at Edwards in disbelief.  
"You heard me," Edwards said. "And it wasn't a suggestion."  
Zetan stared at him for a moment longer, as if he was unable to believe what he had  
heard, then turned back around with a muttered, "Yes, sir."  
Edwards watched on his panel as the fighter rushed headlong toward the Khitomer's hanger and hoped fervently that he had calculated right...  
  
  
  


The Khitomer was a fairly large ship, and it seemed even bigger when one was  
hurtling at it, out of control. Toyle gulped as he saw one of the rotating phaser turrents  
swivel about to target and track his fighter.  
He could see the hanger doors slide slowly open before him, and he said a  
silent prayer to whatever gods there might've been that someone on the Khitomer had  
realized what he was doing.  
The pale yellow light that filled the bay spilled out into space, illuminating his  
fighter as he drew nearer. He could see people inside the hanger madly dashing toward the  
doors as they tried to get out before he crash-landed.  
So close now...  
  
  
  


Edwards hit his combadge, "Edwards to Dr. Woods. Head down to the main  
hanger ASAP. They're gonna need your services in a minute!"  
"On my way," Came the Doctor's curt reply.  
  
  
  


He was in the hanger in an instant. His fighter smashed into the deck, sending  
sparks everywhere. He grabbed the controls uselessly in a desperate attempt to retain  
some sense of control.  
His fighter skidded across the bay, smashing into crates and instruments as he  
headed madly for the wall.  
He felt a burning sensation on his arm and, peering over at it, he realized in alarm  
that it was on fire.  
He started swatting at it, trying to bat out the fire. He was still hitting his arm when  
his fighter smashed into the far wall. He was hurled forward, smashing his chest against   
his panels. Only his restraints kept him from going through the window. Blackness crept  
in on the corners of his vision. He struggled for consconsiousness, even as he felt it   
slipping away from him...  
  
  
  


Woods stood just inside the door with Xonne at her left and another nurse to  
her right. She winced as the fighter skidded across the deck, making a horrid screeching  
noise as it did so. Sparks flew everywhere. A few hit her exposed skin, stinging slightly  
before they died out.  
With a thunderous crash, the fighter smashed into the wall, crumpling in on itself.  
Before the fighter had even had a chance to cool off, she and Xonne had lept up   
on the fighter. Xonne agily climbed across the fighter's cockpit hatch and grasped the  
seal, ignoring the heat.  
With a mighty heave, he ripped it off and tossed it to the deck with a loud clang.   
The nurse jumped out of the way, nearly getting hit by the falling hatch.  
Woods grabbed one of Toyle's arms while Xonne grabbed the other. Together,  
they hoisted him out and carried him off the fighter.  
Once they were down and had lain him on a anti-grav stretcher, the Engineering  
team went at the fighter in an attempt to get it out of the wall, put the fires out, and   
start repairs on it.  
As they pushed him down the corridor toward Sickbay, Toyle came to  
slightly.  
His arm flopped out in Woods' general direction and he gazed up at her  
through glazed eyes.  
"S-Susan..." He gasped.  
"You always have to make an entrance, don't you Toyle?" She muttered  
as they moved the stretcher into the turbolift. "Sickbay."  
He gasped in what was probably a sickly attempt at a laugh, then passed out  
again.  
  
  


Captain's Log, Stardate: 53796.2 

Commander Zack Toyle of the Phoenix Squadron is on-board and recovering  
from his injuries nicely. I'm sorry to note that Captain Blair was killed in action.  
A commendation will be placed in his record.  
We've departed from the Starbase 91 and are en route to the Anteries System  
at maximum warp--which is pretty darn fast! Dk'myr'chi tells me that we'll have to slow  
down a bit, or we'll leave the rest of the fleet behind. I've decided to go ahead of the  
task force and scout out the system. We'll arrive in a couple of hours.  
End Log.  
  


Edwards sat in his Ready Room in silence for a moment, staring out at the  
stars that rushed past the window, lost in thought.   
The doorchime sounded and Edwards, turning his chair forward again, said  
"Come."  
The door slid open and Dk'myr'chi walked in. "You wanted to see me?"  
"Yeah, come in, Dimitri. Have a seat."  
Dk'myr'chi sat down in one of the chairs that faced Edwards, then leaned  
back expectantly.  
Edwards didn't keep him waiting long. "Dimitri, I was told, by you, by the   
'Fleet Brass, and by everyone I talked to that this ship was the strongest, the toughest,  
and the absolute best."  
"She is that." Dk'myr'chi said, chest puffed up with pride.  
"Then tell me this," Edwards leaned forward, "Why is it one--ONE, mind you!--  
Jem'Hadar ship was able to completely disable us? We're not very tough if that all it takes.  
Dk'myr'chi raised one hand, fingers out, and started ticking points off of them.  
"One: The Khitomer was manned at the time by incompetents. Two: The shields  
were down. Without them, the Khitomer is vulnerable. Three: The Jem'Hadar ship knew  
exactly where to strike. They knew our weak points. Four: Many of the system on the  
Khitomer are faulty. During the battle, the stress was too much and they blew out,  
taking other systems with them."  
Edwards nodded, satisfied. "And what are you doing to correct these problems?"  
Dk'myr'chi stuck all his fingers out again and started ticking off of them.  
"One: We got ride of the incompetents. Two: Next time, put the shields up. Three:  
With the shields up, our weak points are protected. Four: I'm in the process of locating the  
faulty systems and repairing them."  
"How do you suppose the Jem'Hadar knew where to strike?" Edwards asked, mostly  
thinking out loud.  
Dk'myr'chi answered anyway, "Apparently, someone knows a lot about the Khitomer.   
I think that may be one of our biggest problems."  
Edwards nodded silently in agreement.  
  


***  
  
  
  


"You failed." It was not a question  
"Yes, Founder." Scerioun was kneeling on one knee. He bowed so low that his  
chest was pressing against his knee. He hoped he looked sufficiently humble...  
"The Khitomer was not destroyed. It is now leading a task force to the Anteries System."  
Scerioun replied, "Yes, my masters. I deserve nothing less than death."  
He didn't actually know how many Founders were here, reprimanding him, but he  
always thought it best to assume there were more than one.  
There was silence for a minute, then one of the Founders (or was it the same one?)   
spoke from the shadows.  
"We will not kill you. We have decided to give you another chance. Destroy the  
Khitomer, or you will be killed and replaced."  
A second chance! His heart lept inside of his chest. The Vorta didn't really  
want to die--no one did--but he had expected to. The Founders were not terrible forgiving.  
If he could've bowed lower, he would have. "Thank you, oh Benevolent Ones. I will  
not fail you again."  
"See that you don't." Was the last thing the Founders said to him. He didn't know  
if they left the room after that--there was no sound--or if they were simply ignoring him,  
their minds on higher things. He got up and left, leaving the Founders to plan cunningly  
as gods like them do.  
  
  
  


He was given a massive warship, many smaller Jem'Hadar ships, and a  
group of medium capital ships as his task force. He felt a small bit of pride well up  
in his chest as he saw the fleet through his viewscreen. As he turned his head,  
the small viewscreen that sat in front of one eye shifted to follow, giving him a perfect  
view of everything outside the ship.  
The Jem'Hadar, who had snapped to attention on the bridge of his warship  
when he had come on, now returned to their duties. They would sail within the hour,  
and they would not return until they had destroyed the Guardian-class warship named  
the USS Khitomer...  
  
  


***  
  
  
  


With a cough, Commander Zack Toyle awoke, feeling better than he  
had when he had crash-landed on the Khitomer. He pushed himself up on his elbows  
with a groan and looked around, taking in the Sickbay.  
It was large; larger, even, than the Sickbays on the Galaxy-class starships.   
Everything was pristine white and brightly lit, giving the place a sterile, clean feel to it.  
Doctor Susan Woods came out of her office upon seeing his awakening.  
Susan! He thought with a jolt, his heart leaping in his chest. He had thought  
he had been hallucinating when he had seen his former lover hauling him out of the  
cockpit of his wrecked fighter.  
But no! There she was, striding toward him. She didn't look any different than  
when he had last seen her, almost ten years ago.  
Then, following on the heels of the last thought, he quickly contradicted himself.  
She DID look different. Her lithe figure was the same. Her pale face was as  
beautiful as always, but there was a different aura about her. She seemed harder, older,  
more worn down than she had been before.  
Obviously, the war had taken its toll on her.  
All of this skipped through his mind in the space between heartbeats. He flashed  
his cocky grin, then wished he hadn't when his split lips started throbbing in pain again.  
"I'd stow the grin for a few days, Mr. Toyle." She commented as she neared his bed.   
"All it'll do is hurt."  
" ' Mr. Toyle' ?" He said, no longer smiling. He was trying not to move his mouth  
too much around each word. "Why so formal? C'mon, it's me, Susan."  
She looked at him curiously for a moment, then continued as though he hadn't  
said anything. "You had third degree burns on your arm, a severe concussion, a broken  
arm, several broken ribs, and some torn ligaments in your leg. You're lucky we got  
you to Sickbay when we did."  
"I feel fine now," He said, "So I guess you must've done a good job. Thanks....  
Doctor."  
He pushed himself up and started to climb off the bed when a wave of dizziness  
swept over him, blackening his vision for a moment. He swayed, then fell heavily back  
against the bed.  
"Ooooh," He moaned, "Guess I'm not back up to one-hundred percent yet."  
She caught his arm, keeping him from falling to the floor and said, "Go easy  
for awhile."  
He nodded slowly, the dizziness passing.   
She released his arm as he tried again to support his own weight. Succeeding  
better than he had the first time, he stared walking slowly toward the main doors of  
Sickbay.  
"See you around, Doctor." He tossed over his shoulder as the doors slid shut  
behind him.  
  


***  
  
  
  


The Khitomer was passing through the Borlias system--the system that  
was right next to the Anteries system--when she dropped from warp, at the order  
of her Captain.  
"Long range scanners," Edwards ordered. "Try and get a read on the  
Anteries system."  
Hobson abandoned his chair and joined Radisson at the console.  
Radisson--obviously--was quite experienced with the long-range sensors  
and quickly had the data requested up on screen.  
"It's almost out of the range of our sensors, and the weird asteroid field  
in the system seemed to reflect sensors. If it weren't for the advanced sensors  
the Khitomer's equipped with, we wouldn't get anything at all."  
"What can you get?" Edwards asked.  
"I'm picking up a group of five--no, make that seven--Jem'Hadar warships.  
They seem to be patrolling the border of the asteroid field."  
"Have they seen us?"  
"No," Hobson put in, "Their sensors don't reach this far."  
"ETA of the fleet?"  
"Half-an-hour, sir." Ensign Krod Zetan supplied from his position at the helm.  
Edwards pondered in silence for a moment, then said,  
"Alright. I guess we'll wait for the fleet to arrive, then attack." He looked at Radisson,  
"Send a message to the fleet. Tell them to hold position on the edge of this system. We  
don't need to take any chances on being detected."  
"I'm on it." He said, moving back to his security console.  
Edwards settled back in his chair to wait.  
  


***  
  
  
  


The ships shot out of warp, almost as one, and drifted to a stop around the  
Khitomer.   
Edwards stood, tugging on the hem of his jacket, and said,  
"Put me on to the fleet."  
Radisson complied swiftly. He was becoming very adept at operation the security  
console, Edwards noticed.  
"This is Captain Bradly J. Edwards, USS Khitomer, to the Task Force. We've detected  
a small group of Jem'Hadar warships that seem to be patrolling the outer edge of the system.  
The Khitomer, along with a few other ships will ambush the patrol, destroy it, then retreat.  
Once they're out of the way, we can catch the system by suprise. USS Taurus, Gorgon,  
Remus, and Gemini, form up with us. We'll go deal with the patrol. The rest of you, hold  
position here. Do not, repeat, DO NOT, under any circumstances move closer. I don't  
know if they'll be able to pick you up, but we don't need to take chances. Edwards out."  
The Taurus--A galaxy-class starship, the Gorgon--Nebula class, the Remus--an  
Ambassador-class, and the Gemini--a Defiant-class, formed up around the Khitomer  
in a standard Starfleet formation. The Khitomer's powerful engines glowed to life and  
it moved off, the other ships following.  
Behind Edwards, the turbolift door slid open and someone walked out. He  
didn't bother to turn and look. He was preoccupied with a report on ship's readiness.  
However, when the person said, "Captain...", He turned to find a red-haired  
man standing there.  
"Yes? What can I do for you?"  
"Commander Zack Toyle, reporting aboard." Edwards noticed the lack of 'sir' on the  
end of the sentence, but decided to let it slide for the moment.  
"Welcome, Commander. I hope you don't usually land like that. They just  
finished repairs on the shuttlebay."  
Toyle started to grin, then winced and changed his mind. "Wasn't my fault," He  
said casually, "Jem'Hadar wrecked my ship. My flying would've been perfect, not to   
mention outstanding, otherwise."   
From the helm, Zetan snorted.  
Edwards hurriedly continued before Toyle could shoot a remark at the Bolian   
helmsman.  
"Thank you for reporting in, Commander. If you'll excuse me, I've work to do."  
Toyle nodded and walked back into the 'lift. Edwards sat back down in his  
high-backed command chair and chuckled under his breath as he picked up the 'ship  
readiness' report again.  
Radisson spoke up from his position at the security console.  
"He's certainly sure of himself, isn't he?"  
"He certainly is, Mr. Radisson," Edwards replied.  
  


***  
  
  
  


The five ships slipped into the asteroid field when the patrol was on the opposite  
side of the system, ducking behind immense floating rocks and using them as cover.  
They waited silently for almost twenty minutes, watching for the patrol, then  
lept out and attacked.  
"Forward phaser arrays, target and fire on a ship! Bring the photon launchers  
on-line and fire at a second target! Let's do our part in this, people." Edwards  
barked over the Red Alert klaxons that now screamed across the bridge.  
Orange beams of concentrated energy flashed out through space and  
brushed against the shields of one of the Jem'Hadar ships. The shields took the  
blast, then fired its own on the Khitomer.  
It did very little damage, thanks to the Octahedron shields. The Khitomer  
was able to easily take the damage, then come about to attack again.  
Edwards breathed a sigh of relief, glad to know that the Octahedron shields  
had worked in the field test. He had been worried about that...  
The Federation starships were outnumbered two-to-one, but they were  
bigger and more heavily-armed than the Jem'Hadar ships. It balanced out.  
The Khitomer completed a strafing run on a Jem'Hadar ship and wheeled  
about with agility that seemed impossible for a ship of its great size.  
They came about just in time to see the Taurus explode.  
Edwards threw his arm up over his eyes, shielding them from the brightness  
of the blast. He had known the Taurus had been damaged, but he hadn't known the  
severity of it until now. A feeling of guilt swept through him. For an instant, in the back  
of his mind, he somehow believed that the destruction of that ship had been his fault.  
With jaw jutted out in determination, he ordered. "Repeating photon launcher,  
target and fire on the Jem'Hadar ship with the most damage."  
The ship with the most damage, as it turned out, was the ship that was  
bearing down right for the Khitomer. The purplish ship seemed to be on a collision  
course for the Guardian-class warship. Its weapons were firing at a steady stream  
into the Khitomer's shields.  
"Report?" Edwards asked.  
"One of our ships destroyed. None of their's are. Shields down to ninety-five  
percent and dropping steadily."  
"Take out that ship, Mr. Radisson."  
Multiple phaser banks, two photon launchers, and the Repeating photon  
launcher released a devastating barrage of fire against the enemy ship. It was  
enough firepower to devastate the surface of a small world.  
The Jem'Hadar ship survived it.  
Edwards frowned as the Khitomer veered aside to avoid the oncoming ship.  
"Mr. Radisson, are our weapons operating at full capacity?" He asked.  
"Yessir. Double- and triple-checked 'em myself." He said, sounding very  
puzzled.  
"Then how'd that ship survive?" Edwards demanded as the Khitomer  
rocked under the combined barrage of three Jem'Hadar warships.  
"Unknown, Captain!" Hobson said from one of the tactical consoles  
behind Radisson. "That ship should've been obliterated. We poured enough firepower  
into it to take out several Jem'Hadar ships. There's no reason for that ship to be alive!" 

...'Somehow, we believe they have modified their shields to absorb any energy it   
meets and redirect it into the other systems. The energy they can't use, they bleed off   
into space'... 

A piece of Edwards' conversation with Admiral Nechayev rose unbidden to his  
mind.  
Oh no...  
"Mr. Zetan, bring us about. Retreat back to the main fleet! Mr. Radisson, inform the  
other ships!"  
"SIR!?" Both officers yelped disbelievingly.  
"No time to explain, just DO IT!" Edwards snapped harshly.  
The tone of urgency in his voice made both officers scramble to carry out  
his orders.  
The Khitomer wheeled about and dashed madly, dodging through the asteroid  
field as it ran for the neighboring system.  
The Gemini and the Gorgon--the only remaining ships--followed the Khitomer  
with the Jem'Hadar in hot pursuit.  
Simultaneously, four of the Jem'Hadar ships fired on the Gorgon. The Nebula-class  
starship didn't have chance. Its shields collapsed almost immediately, its hull following   
soon after.  
The Gemini swerved to avoid the incoming fire from the other ships and  
clipped an asteroid. Damaged, the Gemini wheeled out of control. Before its crew  
could bring the ship back on course, they hit another asteroid. It collided with  
a massive asteroid that sheered off one of its engines.  
Careening out of control, the Gemini didn't last very long. It pulverized  
an asteroid before exploding in a brilliant flash as the matter/anti-matter engine   
collapsed in on itself.  
The Khitomer was fleeing from the Jem'Hadar ships, suddenly all alone.  
The Jem'Hadar were gaining on the Khitomer. Although the warship was  
very maneuverable, it could only go so fast through an asteroid field. The  
Jem'Hadar ships were smaller and could maneuver with much more ease. As a result,  
the were steadily gaining on the Khitomer.  
Asteroids flashed past the Khitomer, looking like brown blurs as the Khitomer  
whizzed by at terrible speeds. Edwards hadn't realized just how fast three quarters  
impulse was until now...  
The Khitomer lurched as the beams the Jem'Hadar were firing found them  
and started pummeling their shields.  
An idea formed in Edwards brain and he turned to Radisson.  
"The Photon Net, Mr. Radisson! Fire it."  
Radisson's eye lit up. He had forgotten about the experimental net as well.  
"Firing."  
From the aft of the Khitomer, the Photon Net flew.  
It looked like a spider's web. Each junction was a photon torpedo. The central  
junction was a highly sensitive sensor.  
The net's small thrusters fired and it hurtled backward, heading directly  
for the Jem'Hadar warships.  
They all veered off, save for one that didn't move in time. The net hit it and  
wrapped itself around the enemy ship. When the sensor registered the impact,  
it detonated all the torpedoes simultaneously.  
There was very little left of the Jem'Hadar warship.  
Edwards couldn't help but grin, despite the grimness of the situation. It felt   
good to destroy at least ONE invincible ship!  
Another idea dawned on him:  
"Mr. Radisson. Fire phasers at those asteroids. Try and shatter some of them.  
Maybe the flying shards'll affect those ships."  
"I'm on it." Radisson replied.  
Zetan leaned into the controls, whipping the Khitomer to starboard, narrowly   
avoiding the phaser beam that lashed out at them.  
Edwards clung to his chair, almost tumbling out on the floor.  
A phaser beam lanced out of the Khitomer and struck a medium-sized, gracefully  
spinning asteroid, shattering it into a million flying shards.  
They peppered the shields of the Jem'Hadar ships. Since the new shields  
were designed to absorb energy, the shards were actually able to batter the shields  
down on one of the ships.  
Unfortunately, before the Khitomer could take advantage of it and attack, the  
damaged ship turned and abandoned the chase.   
But, looking on the bright side, it was still one less ship shooting at them.  
Around the Khitomer, the asteroid field was growing denser. Far denser  
than it had been when they had come through the first time. Edwards abruptly  
realized they weren't following their previous course.  
The Khitomer was dodging this way and that, trying valiantly not to get  
destroyed by a massive, drifting rock. Zetan was hunched over the helm in  
intense concentration as he tried to keep them alive.  
"Fire on the asteroids again." Edwards said to Radisson.  
Radisson quickly targeted a large rock and punched the fire button.  
Nothing happened....  
"Sir!" He said, "We've got a problem. Phasers are down!"  
"What!?" Edwards barked, "How? Their shots haven't done enough damage  
for that!"  
"I don't know, sir!" Radisson said, already working furiously to re-route   
various systems in an attempt to bring the weapons back on-line.  
He glanced at another panel and said, "Photons are down too!"  
Edwards slapped his badge hard enough to bruise his chest as he stalked  
back to his command chair and shouted, "Dk'myr'chi!"  
  
  
  


"I know, Captain!" Dk'myr'chi said as he slid down out of a maintenance tube  
that was built into the bulkhead of engineering. "The firing system just blew out! I'm   
working on it." He smacked his badge again, cutting off the connection before  
Edwards could say anything else and bellowed, "DePaul!"  
Lieutenant Laurel DePaul--Dk'myr'chi's assistant--came charging through the  
steam cloud that was being produced by a ruptured conduit. Since it was connected  
to a minor system, no one was bothering to fix it. The weapons were the main   
priority now.   
"Seal off the coolant valves! Flush the excess radiation from them, then  
open 'em back up."  
With barely a nod to show she had heard him, she jogged by and attacked  
one of the consoles.  
Dk'myr'chi stormed past the warp core, slid down the ladder by grasping  
the sides alone, and hustled across the lower deck of Engineering, heading for  
the main firing system relay.  
He found two Engineers working to put out a fire that had appeared in  
the system. They sprayed foam from the extinguishers and smothered the fire,  
then worked to clear away the foam.  
When they had cleared the foam off--it was easily done, due to the compounds   
the foam was designed of. It was especially designed to come off easily--Dk'myr'chi  
dropped to his knees in front of the open trunk and started working on the wires  
and circuits inside.  
He cursed in Gorn as he peered inside. Many of the circuits seemed to be  
fried. Others were gone, completely vaporized. There was nothing he could do to  
fix it.  
Unless...  
He ran across to the room and pulled down the one of the warp drive  
trunks. He started disconnecting circuits from the ignition systems and splicing  
them into the fire control system.   
The systems weren't meant to be compatible, but they were similar in  
design. Similar enough, Dk'myr'chi hoped, to work in the firing relay.  
With the proper circuits in place, he tore back to the coolant valves and  
barked, "DePaul!" again.  
She was working with all the speed she could muster on the system.  
Without looking up, she shouted, "Coolant valves flushed and re-opened!"  
Dk'myr'chi hit his badge again and said, "Dk'myr'chi to Edwards. You've  
got weapons now, Brad!"  
  
  
  


"Bless you, Dimitri!" Edwards exclaimed. Without even bothering to  
shut his badge off, he twisted his head to look at Radisson and said, "Fire!"  
Radisson had had plenty of time to program in a specific firing pattern. Now  
he executed it.  
Every phaser on the Khitomer fired, each destroying an asteroid. Photons  
flew out and did the same to still more asteroids. Tractor beams grabbed  
smaller rocks and hurled them--slingshot style--toward the Jem'Hadar warships. Photon  
nets fired aft.  
The Jem'Hadar, thinking the Khitomer was helpless, had been sitting directly  
on its tail and firing relentlessly into the shields. Now, they were caught off-guard  
when the seemingly helpless ship bared its teeth. Two of the Jem'Hadar ships were  
destroyed before they could do anything. The third wisely decided to turn and run.  
Edwards slumped back in his seat, relief washing over him, followed closely  
by a terrible sense of dread.  
Four ships had been destroyed during an attack on a patrol. How would  
they ever stand up against the main force...?  


TO BE CONCLUDED...   


**Did you like this episode? Did you **_**not**_** like this episode? **

**Comments? Questions? Suggestions? **

**Click on the button below to go to our message board. **

**Tell us anything you want us to hear. We'll listen and respond.**

[][1]  
  


   [1]: http://www.InsideTheWeb.com/mbs.cgi/mb773895



End file.
